Definitely Not a Cat
by Little Miss Slytherclaw
Summary: Mr. Malfoy's letter was signed off with the words: "Your mother and I can't wait for you to meet the newest member of our family." Naturally, that mean Draco had gotten the cat he had been asking for, right?


**Written for: QLFC, Round Four**

 **Falmouth Falcons, Seeker**

 **Mandatory: Pet Me: Write about getting a pet for the first time and it turning out to be different than expected.**

 **Word count (without AN): 1485**

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Definitely Not a Cat

"I'm going to get a cat," Draco Malfoy said with a smug smile as the train started to slow down. They were nearing Kings Cross Station, which meant that Draco was one step closer to meeting his new pet.

The day before, when all of the owls brought in the last round of mail, the majestic Malfoy bird dropped off a letter penned in Lucius Malfoy's neat handwriting. Inside was a simple few words explaining to Draco when they would meet at the station, and it was signed off with the words: "Your mother and I can't wait for you to meet the newest member of our family."

Naturally, that mean Draco had gotten the cat he had been asking for.

"I showed you the letter, haven't I?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow to the two boys sitting across from him. Both Crabbe and Goyle nodded enthusiastically.

"Would you like to see it again?" Draco asked with a smirk. Before either of the boys responded, Draco pulled out the letter again and showed them the last line. "See. My father got me a cat just because I asked him to."

Crabbe's face twisted into a look of extreme thought, and Draco sighed. "What is it?"

Crabbe opened his mouth to speak, but stumbled, making a bit of a groaning sound rather than actual words.

"Spit it out," Draco said, exasperated, re-folding his letter and sticking it in his front pocket.

"He didn't write cat," Crabbe finally said after a moment of struggle, prompting Draco to roll his eyes.

"Learn how to read inbetween the lines," Draco said, smirking when another look of confusion clouded both Crabbe and Goyle's faces. He loved having idiotic friends. It made him feel smart.

Within minutes, the train was pulling up to the station and everyone was getting off and grabbing their trunks. The platform was filled with families hugging and tears and smiles; it was a bit sickening to Draco.

But that didn't matter. All of Draco's thoughts were on finding his father so he could go home and see his cat. It would be white and beautiful, just like he asked.

Upon seeing his father, Draco said a quick hello, handed his trunk over to Lucius, and ran towards the nearest floo, anxious to get home.

His mother was in the sitting room when Draco stepped out of the fireplace, and she was holding something. His cat! Draco quickly walked over to her, only to have his steps falter and his stomach drop.

That definitely wasn't a cat.

"What the bloody hell is that," Draco said as his eyes met with the little bundle in his mother's arms. The girl was young, maybe only a month old, and had the tiniest tuft of shocking white-blonde hair underneath a little lace headband. She was wearing a pink dress. Pink. Draco shuddered even at the thought of the color.

"Language," Mrs. Malfoy replied, her tone rather stern, but her expression one of something akin to amusement.

The baby made a noise. It was a disgustingly joyful sound.

Draco glared down at 'it.'

Lucius Malfoy let out a low chuckle as he stepped out of the fireplace, sending the second-year's trunk to his room. "Come now, Draco. You were so excited on the platform. You practically ran to the floo!"

Draco moved his piercing glare to his father, a snarl moving to his lips. "I thought you had gotten a cat, like I had asked you to in my letters home," he sneered before turning on his heel and stomping out of the room.

He continued to stomp until he had reached his room, and he slammed the door upon entering, throwing himself onto his four-poster bed.

"Why," he moaned out, curling into his soft, velvety blanket that was always draped across his bed. Rolling onto his back and holding his blanket to his chest, he looked up at his ceiling, which was enchanted with the Draco constellation. "I just wanted a cat. I've told father this. I wanted a little white cat and I was going to name her Lyra."

In his time of bemoaning, Draco hadn't heard his door open, nor his mother step up to the bed beside him, but he definitely felt his mattress dip under her weight when she sat down at the edge of the bed. "Well," Narcissa said softly, placing her hand on Draco's shoulder. "You got part of your wish."

Draco quickly covered his head with his blanket, as if he were trying to block his mother's words out. "An annoying little baby is nothing like an elegant white cat," he whined, wondering how his parents could even think of having another child when they already had him.

"I believe you'll like her more than you think," Narcissa said softly, one of her warm hands still on her son's shoulder as she uncovered Draco's head. "Her hands are so tiny, and her laugh sounds just like a little bell."

Draco only answered with a groan, rolling over onto his side and away from his mother. Narcissa sighed and patted his shoulder before standing up. "Come downstairs when you are ready to meet her. I know your father and I should have told you about her much earlier so she wouldn't have been such a surprise, but please try to give her a chance?"

When Draco didn't respond, Mrs. Malfoy left the room, gently closing the door behind her, leaving Draco alone with his self-pitying thoughts.

As soon as he was alone, Draco sat up and looked around his room. It was all as it was supposed to be. His trunk sat at the foot of his bed and his broomstick was propped in the corner. His clothes were all neat and the walls were the perfect shade of dark green. Everything was right, so how could something have gone so wrong?

A pet meant companionship and playtime; a little sister meant that she would get all the attention and he would get ignored. Draco knew how these things worked. She would be prettier than him, and smarter than him, and more talented than him. How could a twelve-year-old compete with a little baby girl?

And he had specifically asked, all throughout his last year at Hogwarts, in every letter that they let him have a cat, a pet to play with. Now he understood why his father kept brushing the request off when he quite literally gave Draco everything else he asked for.

A cat wouldn't be good with a baby. That would just be TWO miniature animals that they would have to train.

Groaning and covering his face with his blanket again, he wrestled with the desire to throw a tantrum, but his mother had asked him to give the human larva a chance, and he had never been able to say no to his mother before. So, being the ever dutiful son, he stood up, threw his blanket to the side, and stalked down the stairs.

His father was holding the baby, cooing softly and swaying his hips a little, almost seeming to bounce. It was disturbing, but Draco set his jaw and walked into the sitting room, making his way right up to look at the baby.

"Everything about her is so…" he trailed off as his eyes went from her pink dress, to her pink cheeks, and to her pink little hands and feet. "Pink," he finished with disdain.

His mother laughed, much to his dismay, and gently pulled Draco into a hug. "She laughs more when she wears pink, so we've figured it's her favourite color," she said, her voice floaty and almost a little singsongy. Draco wanted to say he hated it, but when he glanced up at his mother and saw her clear blue eyes shining, all of the hate melted away.

With a light sigh, he turned back to the baby and stuck one finger out to gently poke her stomach, resulting in a light giggle from the little bundle. Draco drew his hand back in surprise, though he quickly repeated the action, earning himself another giggle. His pale lips drew into a small smile as he glanced up at his father, who was beaming down at Draco. That was surprising too. Draco couldn't remember ever seeing his father beam. Happy? Sure. Content? Yeah. But beaming? Definitely not.

"What," he started, biting his lip and looking down at the baby girl, watching curiously as she grabbed his finger tight with her tiny little hands. "What are you calling her?"

He could tell by the way his mother shifted her warm grip on his shoulders that she was smiling, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from the, dare he say beautiful, little girl.

"Lyra," his mother said softly, and a grin finally broke out onto Draco's lips.

Maybe having a little sister would be alright.


End file.
